strike true
by RobinRocks
Summary: Part of the 'Thirty: Thirty-Nine' tumblr project. 'They always smell of the raids, of the smoke and debris and fuel, because that is all their lives have become, relentless day-and-night-day-and-night-day-and-night, devoured utterly by the need to win.' USUK.


strike true

It's four in the morning and freezing; still dark with mint-frost breath clouding on the run between the mess hall and the barracks. The Spitfires are far behind them, left to rest up, because tomorrow night it will be exactly the same.  
England shuts the door with his weight and flips the latch across with an exhausted sigh; now comes the unceremonious undressing, the peeling off of thick sheepskin zipped right up to his throat and the blue wool uniform, belt clattering and buttons clinking. He does this from memory, not needing to put on the light. He hangs his uniform over the back of the wardrobe door and stumbles to the bed, already warm with its other occupant. They share a bed - but only for a few hours in the last snatches of the night. The alarm sounds at 5:30am and then he has the bed to himself.  
"Oi, shift over," England mutters, pushing at America's shoulder.  
America, half-wakened at his touch, mumbles and backs up a little bit, groggily lifting the sheets. England slides in with him, settling into the curve of his body so that they are nestled like spoons. America drapes his arm over him.  
"Good raid?" he asks sleepily.  
"Nothing out of the ordinary." England links their fingers together. "We lost a few."  
America bunches closer still to him, gathering him right up in his arms.  
"You can't beat yourself up every night, babe," he sighs in his ear.  
"That's rich. I'll be sure to remind you of that this evening." England pats his arm. "Hush, now. Go back to sleep like a good lad. You need it."  
"So do you." America presses a kiss to his shoulder blade and rests his cheek in the crook of his neck.  
They exhale, it seems, in unison; and then there is silence between them as the morning creeps ever closer. The curtains are the thick coarse black-out kind, naturally, and the peach-flesh light of the dawn is banished from their boudoir of old stone and corrugated steel. This - this tiny splinter of the day, the hour (if they're lucky) they can cuddle up together against the chill outside - is their reward. This is what they survive for. It's not much but it's what they want more than glory or medals or that night's victory.  
They are barely beneath the sea of sleep, it seems, when the tin alarm clock goes off. America fumbles for it, knocking it to the ground in his effort to silence it. It bounces a few times and lies still in the middle of the floor, quietened, and America gives a satisfied sigh and huddles down again, hiding his face against England's spine.  
"No," England mumbles, patting at him. "You have to get up."  
"Don't wanna."  
"I know," England sighs, "but you must." He gives America a more urgent nudge. "Go on, love."  
America peels himself out of bed with much ado, grumbling the whole way; goosebumps prickle over his bare back as he scampers to fetch his uniform and pull it on against the bitter morning chill. He isn't quiet about his morning routine, splashing in the basin and charging about in search of his razor and then his toothbrush and then his glasses. England rolls over and listens to his usual chaos with his eyes closed.  
"Okay, I'm off to work, wifey," America drawls at long last, leaning over the bed. "Make sure you clean the house and look after the children and make my dinner."  
"Piss off," England groans, pulling the covers over his head.  
"C'mon, at least give me my goodbye kiss." _This_, it must be said, is not a joke; and there is an urgency in America's voice when he says it.  
England turns over and hefts himself up, pushing back the sheets; the morning air is freezing and it is plain to see why America is already bundled up in his bomber jacket and scarf and leather gloves. His glasses are a little steamed at the edges, too.  
"Good luck," England says in a low voice, pulling the covers up over his chest. "I rather think that goes without saying."  
America takes his customary kiss with a bit of force, letting it linger.  
"I like it when you say it," he replies. "You have that tone, you know, makes me think you'll skin me alive if I don't come back."  
"I will, yes." England kisses his hand, tasting the softened leather. "But I like to assume I make coming back worth your while."  
America gives him a quick embrace, England resting his chin on his shoulder. He smells overwhelmingly of the raids. They both do. They always smell of the raids, of the smoke and debris and fuel, because that is all their lives have become, relentless day-and-night-day-and-night-day-and-night, devoured utterly by the need to win.  
Better to keep quiet, then, about the things that matter most.

* * *

This is a bit of shameless advertising (well, partly avertising and partly guilt that I haven't updated anything on FFNet for about two months). While I have had a link to it on my profile for several weeks now, this little ficlet is September 24th's update for my "multimedia" tumblr project, _Thirty:Thirty-Nine_, thirty days of WWII-set _Hetalia_ fics with accompanying WWII photos/cartoons/propaganda and also music and video links.

I am a bit late whoring the project out, I will admit, given that it will be finishing in five days' time, but I realised that it was probably a bit under the radar given that I didn't actually announce it on FFNet, as such; and also, well, I wanted to give _this_ fic a little spotlight of its own. It deals, of course, with the grueling 24/7 raid regime carried out by Bomber Command during the war, where the British would bomb Germany at night and the Americans would go during the day. This particular fic gets an update on FFNet all its own because it was actually the idea I got originally that inspired me to do the _Thirty: Thirty-Nine_ project (though I chose to do it more-or-less exclusively on tumblr due to the enhancement given by the ability to post pictures, videos and music alongside the fics).

If you would like to follow the rest of _Thirty: Thirty-Nine_ (the whole five days left of it) or catch up with what's already been posted, you can find a link to it on the top of my profile. Pairings include GerIta, USUK, Franada, AusHun and Spamano, although other drabbles have focused on other countries heavily involved in WWII, including Poland, Russia, Belgium, China and Greece.

I'll be back on FFNet in September... hopefully dusting the cobwebs off a certain few things that I haven't touched in like a year. T.T


End file.
